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“I was about to ask them if they wanted to learn how to fly-fish. Love to teach you, too. Why don’t you tie up that noble steed there on a branch and come on down? What’s his name?”
“Spike,” Juliana said.
“Spike. Well, of course. Fine name for a fine horse. Speaking of which, what’re your names?”
“We’re the Warners,” Juliana said immediately.
Brian sighed. Warner was the name they were supposed to use when coming into contact with strangers. Juliana’s just so responsible, isn’t she? he thought. She should really get a medal or something.
“How many of you Warners are there, anyway?” McMurphy asked. “You guys seem to keep popping out of the trees like squirrels.”
Brian and Juliana exchanged a glance.
“Just the four of us,” she said.
“Staying out at Mr. Cody’s place, is that right?” the hippie wanted to know.
How’d he know that? Brian thought.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McMurphy, but my brothers need to get going. My, um, dad needs their help.”
“Your dad? Wait, I think I’ve met you before. You came to church with that nice old Irish priest, right?”
“No,” Juliana said. “You must be mistaken.”
“Mysteries and wonders,” McMurphy said, nodding. “Now, now. Listen to me jawing, chewing your ear off, prying into your business. Just ain’t right neighborly, is it? I apologize. It’s just nice to meet folks this far out in the yonder. I live by myself, and when I finally meet someone, all that bottled-up talk just shoots out of me like soda from a shaken can.”
“Uh, OK, Mr. McMurphy. Nice to meet you,” Juliana said, eyeing Brian, letting him know it was time to get moving.
“Pleasure was all mine, miss. All mine. Hey, wait. Before you go, let me give you a little something.”
He fished something out of the creel in his kayak. It was something green in a large ziplock bag. He offered it to Brian.
“Son, that right there is straight primo hybrid sinsemilla. You will not find its equal in all of North America. I grow it myself with love. Ask anyone in the valley, and they’ll tell you McMurphy’s is a cut above all others. Top shelf, drawer, and notch, as my daddy used to say.”
Brian stared at him, stared at the bag, stared at Juliana.
“C’mon, it won’t bite. Hell, I was a kid. You’ll go crazy out here without having yourselves a little fun. Plus, it’s a gift. You don’t want to offend me none, right?”
“We can’t, Mr. McMurphy,” Juliana said, making up an excuse on the spot. “We’re Mormon. We can’t even drink soda. The use of marijuana would be completely against, um, our way.”
“Mormons, huh?” McMurphy said, squinting up at her.
Juliana nodded.
“Well, isn’t that nice,” McMurphy said, putting the weed back into his creel. “I’ll let you get back to your dad. Respecting your elders is always a good policy. Says that right in the Bible. So long, now.”
CHAPTER 70
MARY CATHERINE HAD SWEAT on her brow and tears in her eyes as she rabidly zested another lemon in the scorching kitchen. Leo was coming over for dinner tonight, on his day off, and she’d learned that he liked lemons.
And what Leo wants, Mary Catherine thought, grinning to herself as she zestfully zested, Leo gets.
She already had three chickens in the oven, and a five-pound bag of potatoes boiling in a cauldron-sized pot on the stove. There were still the green beans and the salad to take care of, stuffing to make along with the gravy, but she wanted to get the lemon cake going or she’d be in the weeds.
Besides the lemons, pretty much everything was from Mr. Cody’s farm, even—Sorry, Chrissy—the chickens. They were probably flouting some FDA regulation to have the criminal gall to eat what they grew, but she had the feeling Deputy Marshal Leo would look the other way after he had a few bites.
Farm food this fresh just tasted different, Mary Catherine knew from happy experience. Eating it for the first time was like seeing high-definition TV after a lifetime of black-and-white. It was going to be nice having someone new at the dinner table after all this time.
